


Communication is Key

by TracedViolet



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hand Jobs, the only two things a person needs, you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:54:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25966189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TracedViolet/pseuds/TracedViolet
Summary: Eridan and Vriska go exploring around an abandoned building and their own sexual tension.
Relationships: Eridan Ampora/Vriska Serket
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	Communication is Key

You hear the gravel shift under your boots as you trench through the abandoned mall. Piles of rock and rubble are scattered across the floor where part of the ceiling has caved in. There’s a slight chill in the air but you can barely feel it with your heavy grey jacket on. 

“Wwhy did you drag me to this shitty ass, broken dowwn, insult of a building again?” You hear Eridan's voice whine behind you. He pulls his own jacket closed tighter but doesnt give the cold the satisfaction of buttoning it up. 

You roll your eyes. “8ecause it‘s fun to 8e where you're not supposed to 8e? Not that you would know what fun is.” You jump down from the little ledge you climbed up just for some variety of movement and spot an area that looks like it hasn’t been tagged yet. Bingo. 

“Come on!” You command shaking your can of spray paint up ready to draw your name in the biggest letters you can to let everyone know that you, Vriska Serket, were, in fact, here. you hear Eridan sigh again behind you but dutifully follow. He did not bring any spray paint. 

As you finish drawing your name on the bathroom wall you move to drawing some spiders, an 8 sided die, and all of your usual doodles which receive their unfair share of criticism from your kismesis.

“Oh what do you know a8out art huh?!” 

“I knoww enough to knoww that aint wwhat it looks like.”

For your next drawing you make a large, crude looking tentabulge with drops of genetic fluid dripping from the tip. 

“real mature Vvris.” He says but he’s got half a smile on his lips.

You turn around and smirk back “oh you wanna play the maturity game Mr. ‘I still believe in magic’?” 

“I do not!” He snaps back at you. You can feel the drama he’s trying to send into the air between you with the way he says it. He wants to get riled up and fight you, but you would have to play along. You're not gonna play that way today though. 

You stalk over to where he’s perched up on the counter top, arms crossed, one leg draped over the other. “You wanna 8e mature?” You say, feeling all sorts of mischief bubbling up inside you. you’ve been waiting a long time to play this game with him. You force his legs apart and start to rub the space between them. “Show me how mature you are.”

“H-hey!” He stutters, but he doesn’t stop you. He barely leans back as you lean forward, trying to reach his face to kiss him but he’s a little taller than you, especially when he’s sitting straight up on the counter top. You settle for opening his jacket and reaching up his shirt with your other hand. He shivers beneath it and says very low “knock it off.” 

“Are you nervous?” You purr. 

He looks away, but his face is turning violet so you know the answer.

“Do you want it that 8ad?” You slip your hand into his pants.

He doesn’t say anything but he takes a shaky breath to try and steady himself.

“If you make a sound you lose.” You take this opportunity to squeeze what you're holding and he nearly squeaks but instead he keeps his mouth shut tight and grips the edge of the sink. It might be harder to break him than you thought but by the gods you will break him.

You move to soft gentle strokes because he seems like the kind of person who would appreciate it. that seems to be what he likes and he sighs in relief and leans forward just enough. You take the opportunity to smash your mouth into his. The kiss is a little inexperienced but it’s worth it to gain some. you kiss and kiss and kiss. His hands never leave the counter. What is he too afraid to touch you? What a pussy!

You squeeze again and you think you feel him wince behind his lips. His hand flies up to yours and grips your wrist rather tight. It’s not the kind of touch you were hoping for but at least he’s not too scared to do it. 

You go back to stroking him nice and slow and he relaxes again. He kisses your lips, your cheek, your neck, it’s all very..... sweet. It pisses you off and not in the good way. Where’s the fire? Where’s the fun? 

You lean in and bite at his neck and he makes a strangled sort of sound. The hand that isn't occupied with his bulge snakes up his shirt and starts playing at his gills. You rake your fingers down his sides and his back trying anything at all to rile him up. Just enough. Enough to start moving with you instead of fighting against it. However, the more you do so, the more distant he seems to become.

He stops kissing you, unable to do so and breathe at the same time apparently. You scowl though he can’t see it now that he's placed his head on your shoulder.

You lift his other hand and slide it under your shirt towards your breasts pressing his hand hard against your chest ordering him to do something. He doesn’t even bother to squeeze; he just slides his fingers over one of your breasts rather delicately with not even a momentary interest and then drops it to your hip. Oh, what the fuck!

You grab his hair and pull him back to look at his face and ask him truly “what the fuck!” But before you can speak you notice he looks rather.... miserable. Miserable and small. His fins lay down and back against his head in a submission you’ve never seen before. He doesn’t speak. Instead he whines because you have stopped moving. His claws desperately dig into your wrist begging you to move! Please! Do anything! do anything at all! So you do and the relief that washes over him is unbelievable. It’s like you were holding him at gunpoint for a moment there and he’d rather have been shot than have you stop even for a second. He arches his back and tries his damndest to press up into you but this doesn’t seem like the ideal position for him to do much of the work here.

You let your fingers relax, tangled in his hair, no longer gripping it. And he immediately returns to your shoulder apparently needing the support. When you quicken your pace on his bulge he unsticks his claws from you and adds some fervent kisses to your neck as thanks. It’s all rather.... pathetic. You find yourself, against your will, pitying him. 

it's confusing and slightly concerning how he has suddenly gone from the usual bitter snarkiness to a vulnerable passivity. As if you had flicked a switch inside his brain that had turned off his bravado and left him as something needy and weak. Despite the fact the two of you are in a relationship, he seems so impersonal about the entire thing. Like it’s not you. It’s him. 

You only meant to tease him for a little bit but it got a little melancholy didn’t it? you seem to have hit a nerve he couldn’t possibly hide from you and went straight from being your rival, your equal, to quietly asking, borderline begging, barely able to bring himself to choke out “c-can you… press harder?” it's that desperate. and you don’t really feel like teasing him anymore. You feel like.... being nice. 

You squeeze a little tighter this time on his terms and he gasps before biting down into your shoulder to stop himself from making any sound. Does he still think he’ll be punished for doing so like earlier? Or is he honestly just this shy? You can't really tell. Either way it makes your heart hurt in a way you can’t exactly describe. You didn’t think you were capable of red feelings until this moment. You didn’t think you would ever get this far.

He breathes in little gasps and bucks his hips into your hand, you graze your thumb across the tip and his legs start to shake. He digs his claws back into your wrist and your side. He’s close. So close. You could probably send him over the edge with just a whisper in his ear “come for me.” 

And he does. The entire building is so completely quiet except for the muffled little sound he makes right next to you and you can’t help but feel.... special in a way. because he trusted you of all people to not only have this kind of power over him but have the knowledge that he’s this fucked up on the inside. That this is what he’s reduced to in a sexual situation. It must not be as easy for him to get this kind of release as it is for you. By the gods, you were right. You broke him. 

You’re not stupid. You understand that if he had a choice he probably wouldn't have shown you this kind of weakness and whatever little part of you that does sympathize with others, understands what a shitty feeling it is to have no control.

Despite your nature, you pull him into a hug and he clings to you like you're the only thing in the world. He trembles in your arms. Tears pricking up in his eyes as he comes down from the rush.

“Are... are you ok?” you ask. It’s awkward to say. You don’t think you’ve ever asked this question with sincerity before. 

“I’m fine. It’s fine.” he tries to scrub the tears away but they wont stop. His chest rises and falls in haphazard gasps. 

You brush a loose strand of hair out of his eyes. “I didn’t...hurt you or anything... right?” You wonder what would have happened had you tried to hurt him like you had originally planned. 

“No! It felt good.... Really good...” He looks away still trying to catch his breath. “That's the only time it's ever felt good...” he mumbles quietly. “I’m... I’m sorry.” he chokes out as a round of sobs begins. You can see that he feels just as pathetic as he looks. You can empathize just a little. You have a reputation too. You don’t think he even knows what he’s apologizing for really. 

“There's nothing to 8e sorry for.” you say in the most comforting tone you can muster. Perhaps if you were feeling half as bitchy as you usually do you would tell him he could be sorry for ruining your shirt but you aren't. You are just bewildered at this bizarre turn of events.

He's obviously not going to be back to normal for a good while so you give him a few kisses and he buries his face in your shoulder again and you just stay there for a while. There’s a tired but content sort of feeling in the air. It mixes with the feeling of emptiness that was already there because this doesn't change anything all that much does it? You just made things a little easier for a while and now you both have to go back to normal and pretend it never happened. 

It wasn’t fun. Not for either of you, you don’t think, but it was intimate. It was real. And now you have a secret. 

You can tell he feels ashamed for getting emotional and you don’t blame him. Gods you would probably die on the spot if anyone ever saw you cry.

Is it really always awful for him? These sorts of things? Is this really the only time it’s ever felt good in his life? You feel a sadness settle in your stomach and you try to brush it away. You are pitying your kismesis and that is not the road you want to go down. 

So you both decide to forget it. Or at least pretend to. You both know something different about each other. You know he can actually be rather quiet when nobody else is around. For once it seems as if he didn’t want to take up any space at all. and you. He knows he can trust you now. That you do have a heart. That you're not completely merciless. 

How unfortunate. 

After your few minutes are up and he seems to have composed himself you both straighten yourselves out and start your trek back the way you came. Everything feels so much different now. You don’t look at each other or talk the entire way home. You don’t really need to. There’s an understanding between the two of you that if this were to happen again, it would happen differently. Something with a little less hostility and a lot more communication.


End file.
